The Time Between
by Karigan Rohanna
Summary: What Arwen did between the making of the flag for Aragorn and the end of the War of the Ring. Movie Cannon.


In The Time Between   
By K.M Ortiz 

'Father... please! I'm not a child anymore. I've seen this age rise and fall. I rarely ask for anything at all... but, please grant me this... this one thing... please.' The voice was soft, delicate, but not defenseless or afraid. It was determined... and desperate.   
'Undomiel...' Came the soft response. 'I let your mother do as she desired, and the grief has been mine for ages.' The voice of the lord of the Last Homely House constricted, as the mention of Celebrian always did.   
'Father...' Her throat closed as she left the common tongue and slipped into her familiar language of ages. 'Ada... u-anira an beleg nad. Anna er-sen an im.' Papa... I do not ask for much... this alone give me... so the common translation was rendered... Arwen didn't care- she just wanted it to happen.   
'Your requests are few... but all are great.' He replied, ever in their tongue. 'I cannot give you this. I am sorry.' His voice was cruelly calm. He did not seem to understand.   
'Le... iaew nin! Le henia ú!' Was the passionate response as tears rose to the eyes of the evening star. The passionate burst awoke a strange response in her father.   
'I do understand! And it is not in scorn of you I say this... but in respect and love. The dangers are too great. You cannot deliver the flag to Aragorn. That is final. If you fall... Arwen... what has Aragorn to live for if you fall? What have _I_ to live for? You are hope and encouragement to us all... if you fall... none of us will have the spirit to continue.' He dared not utter the word 'die'. It was too strong a word for him.   
'You are just afraid that because Mother passed across the seas, I would too. Nothing- neither orcs, nor evil and wild men... not even Sauron himself- could give me cause to live Arda! You know that. I have too much to live for.' The tears spilled down her pale face, and the look of anguish was great indeed. It was enough to move the heart of the strongest of mortal men... yet Elrond was made of sterner stuff then he seemed, though pain marred his features.   
'Arwen...' his voice bordered on the dangerous threat of reprimand... though what he could do to punish the daughter who could- by rights- leave him, having been of age for far longer then she might have seemed- was limited.   
'I promised to obey you... I promised Estel to obey you. But... if you would deny me the chance to aid my love, much as Thingol did Luthien, I would make her choice also... though it is not a Silmaril that Estel seeks... it is a kingdom.' Arwen replied, her voice enough to melt even the hearts of elves to tears. But Elrond was not moved.   
'No. I am sorry. You are staying, and no one- not even Elledan or Elrohir, will be allowed to aid you. They will go, bearing your flag, and your horse. But you will stay.' Elrond swept past her as he delivered the ultimatum. Arwen's face twisted in anger, passion, and rage, and screamed at him as he walked past.   
'You will have to confine me to a prison greater then Luthien's to keep me from aiding my lord in this!' She cried passionately as crystalline tears overflowed from the brimming eyes of shattering blue. 'For I know Luthien's skills, and also those of earlier ages!'   
The mention of his grandmother stopped Elrond cold. He turned, his face shaking with rage, to face his daughter, who stood at an angle tall and impudent. 'We discussed this once before... then, I said no. Now, again, I say no. I will not confine you to Rivendell like you were a prisoner... yet you will not be given leave to go either. That is final.' He swept past her and shut the door with a loud bang. Arwen, in a passion of rage and anger, hurled a silver pitcher at the closed door, and sank to the floor, tears obscuring her vision.   
'I will aid you, Estel! I promised you once... and I promise again! I _will_ aid you!'   
---   
Arwen stood in her garden. She had refused to watch her brothers go the day before, carrying her gift to her king. It had been her hand that had written the letter to the Dunedain- from Aragorn, supposedly. But after she had done this, she had shunned the society of her handmaidens, of her family... of everyone, and stood now alone in her garden, head bent in disappear. But not for long. The tears had flowed long and hard the day before, the grief, the disappear, the hopelessness overcoming her for some time. But Arwen was made of sterner stuff then she appeared; she had grieved- now, she would do something.   
She could not leave. She had seen her father work the enchantment that only he could break. Enchantments were like that. Only the caster could break it. She was angry- bitterly angry at him. But she loved him, and knew all this was because he loved her. But it still made her angry.   
'Elbereth... fair lady... aid me... give me an ear to Eru...' Arwen whispered aloud, sinking to her knees, all alone in her garden. The moon was full above her, like it had been the last time she had seen Estel... _her_ hope. Every full moon reminded her of that night. That night she had recommitted herself and her promise. Well, she would recommit herself yet again.   
'Give Estel an aid... a shining light, from Valinor... or beyond. Give him wisdom... strength... grace.' She whispered softly into the night. There were none with ears- none but the Valar and Illuvitar.   
'I cannot go to him... give him a conqueror, someone who has the power to defeat the evils and foes he must face. He must face also trials only a woman can defeat... what, I cannot yet see... it was intent to go myself... but I cannot be there... move the heart of another... let her go in my stead. Let this woman, whoever she be, have courage, and bravery... and be not afraid.' Arwen prayed softly. She went on with her burning prayer.   
'He will have to face Sauron. A mortal facing a Maia is foul indeed. Give him the strength of a thousand Valar of Eru... a thousand of Illuvitar's chosen. May Tulkas lend him strength, and Ulmo all the wild, impetuous power of the seas.' Arwen whispered, still ever softly speaking.   
'Bring him safely to Gondor and back again... and let me be there to meet him.' Arwen ended her prayer in exhaustion. She rocked back off her knees to a sitting position, her heart weary. Sending her prayers to the busy ears of the head of the Valar- so far, in Valinor- was hard. She had heard of humans call it far listening, but it was far speaking. Not that Elbereth would speak back to her... but perhaps she would heed the voice of the spirit daughter of the only first-born to truly die... and pass the message on to Eru, the father of all the peoples, who alone saw all ends.   
Arwen didn't know if she imagined it, but she thought, for a moment, that she had heard the soft whisper on the wind. _We hear your cries_... it seemed to say. Unlike the foul voices she used to hear, this one was gentle and caressing, and very comforting. Arwen embraced the fullness of that voice, and the promise it held, and fell into a deep slumber.   
---   
Elrond was immensely glad that Arwen was going to do as he had commanded. After she had run off with Asfaloth, Glorfindel's horse, and remained missing for four days, he had thought he would die- especially if she hadn't come back. But she had returned- with Frodo- and it all had been all right. Yet... for some time, he feared that his failure to reprimand her firmly enough might encourage her to do silly and foolish things.   
He had been right. At least she was dependent enough on him- no... perhaps it was only that she loved him enough- to seek him out first. 'Oh Elbereth...' He murmured- even as Arwen did in her garden, though he was not aware of it. 'She's going to be the death of me... how do I know she has done even as I said for her to? Of all my children... she worries me most... how can I live without her when I sail across the sea?' He murmured. His eyes fixed to the skillful painting of his wife- now a thousand miles away, across a sea you could only cross once. 'Celebrian...' he murmured softly, to himself. 'How I miss your wisdom.'   
---   
Eowyn, standing alone in Edoras, felt a strange longing on her heart as she watched Aragorn ride towards the Paths of the Dead. A deep, lingering kind of emotion in the back of her mind. She looked up towards the darkening sky. It a bright, bright star sailed across the sky in her vision- there was something comforting about that star... something strengthening.   
_Will you let Aragorn go by himself to do these things? What remains for you here, in Rohan? You know that soon Theoden will return... and when he comes back, will you be content to be sitting, waiting for him, as you have done already? You are younger and stronger then he... yet he will not let you go to war even as you do. You know Aragorn will go through the paths with courage and bravery... no doubt there, he is stronger then any you have ever met before. Will you let him go to his fate alone? When your own fate awaits you elsewhere, will you be content to sit like an old women on the throne of a deserted kingdom? Will you, Eowyn, white lady of Rohan, daughter of the king?_   
Even as she thought these things, asking herself questions that the answer to was not difficult to understand, Arwen, many miles away, kneeling in a garden in Rivendell, was praying passionately for the unknown champion to have strength and courage.   
---   
Aragorn's mind was turned gently on Arwen as he road towards the Paths of the Dead. She had brought him great gifts indeed; the horse he rode, fresh, and trained, with every little nuance and training engulfed in her very presence. Her scent even lingered over the leather of the saddle and bridle. And the flag, as yet unfurled, had a great purpose to fulfill... this he knew indeed.   
Thinking of Arwen made his heart feel stronger. She had that subtle, amazing power over him, no matter where she was, and where he was. About now... it was evening in Rivendell. She might be leading the evening sing... or, if she was not, if she was weary from a hard day, she might be in her garden, singing to herself, or speaking to him, or... if she missed him as much as he missed her... praying.   
He soon felt warmer then he had for a long time. With all that had been going on, it had been hard to find a moment where he could devote himself to thinking of her alone- for she was distracting if there were things that needed his attention. But now, his eyes closed, and he pictured her gentle face, the soft lines of her frame, the midnight hair, tumbling to her waist, the clarity of the piercing blue eyes, the faint, pure scent of her person, the gentle caress of a smile upon her lips...   
It was Arwen who gave him hope, strength, and the ability to endure. They were entwined in souls... Arwen's elven magic gave her the skill to see him from afar, even, on rare occasions, transmit a thought to him, or a memory... Aragorn's love- greater then mortal love, far more like Arwen's own- gave him the wings to think of her with startling clarity and joy. They were one in spirit- like a holy, perfect, and pure connection that transcended the ages and the races, to grant one mortal man great joy, and an elven princess greater hope.   


It was two days before Arwen allowed herself to be seen in public again. Two days of fasting, prayer, meditation, and soft songs. The whole of Rivendell had been quite nervous in her absence. She soothed them with her gentle, reassuring presence of kindly concern. Elrond had feared she might have found a way to surpass his spell, and was therefore twice as nervous as the rest of his people. But all there worries were baseless and unfounded, and Arwen reappeared at the strategic hour of arriving emissaries from Lothlorien and Mirkwood, to discuss what course of action should next be taken. 

'I urge you, my lords, to consider this proposition. Great will be our rejoicing if Aragorn triumphs- and Galadriel herself said he would.' Galadriel had not actually said he would triumph; indeed, her words had been 'if his heart remains true, and things go as I have foreseen them, he will not fail.' Yet no one contradicted her, seeing Arwen's poise in presenting her viewpoint was enough to silence any opposition.   
'And when he claims the throne of Gondor, and the kingdoms of men are united, where will _we_ be, if we do not also unite together as one voice, and align ourselves with the united bodies of Gondor and Rohan, my lords?' She asked, eloquently. She had said when- not if- but no one noticed- or no one opposed her. All eyes fell upon the evening star with gladness in their hearts.   
'I can tell you now... if we do not ally ourselves with the kingdoms of men, as our people leave, to cross the sea, as they have been doing for ages, our last days will be hard ones. I would rather walk my last days where I chose, because none would oppose me, for I am their ally. What say you, Thranduil, and you, Celeborn?' Arwen was the perfect ally for Gondor and the worlds of men; her choice was well known, and yet she was an elf, familiar with the elven ways.   
'I think we should form an alliance with Gondor and Rohan... but on what terms? We will not be here for much longer... the terms must serve all countries involved for as long as they apply.' Celeborn noted.   
'I have outlined some potential terms for the agreement of men and elves already, my lords.' Arwen informed them, continuing with her plans.   
---   
So it was that Arwen spent her days after the completion of her banner for Aragorn until the end of the War of the Ring- her works important, but unwritten. All that she did cannot be written in this tale; for her works were many, and not all were recorded; but she arranged the treaty of men and elves in the ending of the third age, and committed much of the lore from Imladris' great stores of knowledge to her own mind, to pass down to the generations of mortals to come from her and Aragorn. She also sent out relief parties to aid the humans suffering in Gondor and Rohan from the foul orc attacks; and she ever prayed to Elbereth for the strength of her world.   
And so it was that all- elves and men alike- grew to love the lady Arwen Undomiel, the Evening Star, daughter of Elrond and descendant of Luthien, who's compassion, wisdom, and beauty were alike revered and hallowed. And while Aragorn never fully knew of all the works of his beloved's hands while he made war against the evils of their world, all of Middle Earth prospered from Arwen's works, which started even before the War of the Ring was finished and she was crowned queen of Gondor. 


End file.
